Emilia Imp
Stopped writing creatively decades ago and don’t know how to restart so giving this a go.
Emilia Imp
Stopped writing creatively decades ago and don’t know how to restart so giving this a go.
Stopped writing creatively decades ago and don’t know how to restart so giving this a go.
Stopped writing creatively decades ago and don’t know how to restart so giving this a go.
Always first and never last, The favourite child assured. Loved and liked, Encouraged and ?? The Favourite Child is proud. What a difference these things can make, To a person as they grow. To not be ignored, forgotten, disliked, A source of annoyance or sorrow. All children should be The Favourite Child, Each deserves this simple start. To be allowed to feel love and joy. To live with a free and full heart. It wouldn’t cost a thing to do, The people that can do this are me and you.
“Under the bridge. I found it under the bridge”.
Silence. A pause.
“Come on now, you already knew that didn’t you”
Another pause. The chair creaked as she shifted uneasily.
“What did you think I was going to do? Forget all about it? I followed you to the Bridge and watched you dump it. Did you hope someone else would find it? Did that thought make you feel a bit better? Did you think that maybe you could forget about it then. Forget about me? Ha! Well, someone else did find it I suppose, but your conscience doesn’t get off so easily”.
No sound other than her quick hot breath. Her face and eyes hidden by her hoody. Her silence rotten with shame and guilt and panic.
Now what?
The sound of the water changed. At the top it was crystal clear, tinkling shrill and shallow as it tumbled down the gentle slope between its soft earthy banks. Glittering and sparkling under the hot sun and enjoying the cool shady protection of the ancient woodland it trickled through and fed. Then with a deep gurgle it suddenly cascaded over exposed bedrock and poured into a long deep pool. As if it were aware of the “derring do”of the moment the water seemed to roar out loud as it launched into the air and cackled as it plunged into the pool below. The deep resonance of rock on rock being tumbled shook the bank. Further into the pool the surface quickly became still and quiet, dark and reflective as if contemplating its survival.
Tiny angel Rest your eyes Weary from your day So much to see So much learn Now let imagination play
Cradled in my arms In the embers of the day I will gently rock you now ‘Till deep sleep comes your way
Time to drift off Lovely child Into a sleepy haze softly gather in those dreams and nestle far into the veil
Safe and sheltered in my arms May your mind and body float Steady breaths will feed your soul And nourish ‘till you awake
Tiny baby Sleeping fast To spy your dreams I’d smile Sleep well my little bundle Warm dawn is yet awhile.
The babble filled the room. It had been quiet and restrained while the session was on. Everyone listened carefully to each speaker in turn. Teams of advisers passed notes back and forth to support their particular mouthpiece. Interpreters simultaneously babbled translations into dozens of languages and were heard by delegates through their individual earphones. Every uttered word was recorded in notes and considered immediately by over a hundred brilliant minds.
Now the morning break was taking place and the voices were relaxed and the room was filled with conversationalists. Hundreds of people talked in mostly groups of two’s or three’s. Some walked across the room and politely interrupted others to say hello to an old acquaintance or catch the ear of a needed ally. Others made small talk over the tea, coffee and croissants. They didn’t have long before the formal session resumed. There were scientists, researchers, campaigners and politicians. Today they were united by their efforts as Conservationists. All gathered and focused in a serious conversation at the UN to save the precious life on this beautiful planet.
(Use an important word as an anagram)
Those are the stars and this is the flame. The horrors of dawn for those who remain. Their cities are burning, their known world collapsed. Stunned by the darkness, their senses have lapsed Shocked with beauty, second sight. As stars illuminate the night.
Fire sweeps the landscape, Flames glow shrunken and cold. There will be no legacy from this inferno. It will leave no story to be told. The fear of darkness drives the flames And feeds the heat of dread Some people huddle,some not all As skies darken and Night Falls.
Written 30 years ago after reading Asmimov’s brilliant story “Nightfall”. Where a population on a futuristic planet with two suns, at least one permanently lighting the sky, experience an eclipse and their first nightfall.
The small frames of this rather motley group of infants are assembled in the class room awaiting the instruction from the teacher to begin their free play. An interesting position has been taken up by Dylan who appears to have his eyes focussed on the slide in the far corner, Divna seems to be taking a position to the back possibly to avoid the potential skirmish that appears to be building within the group nearest to her. Tensions are rising as they anticipate the start of the free play period here in this lovely junior school setting. A big day for them all as this will the last time they play in this section of the playground as they all progress to the junior school after the final bell today on the bright and warm summers day here in English Coast.
Oh hear we go, the teacher has closed the drawer and is looking up. The eyes of the front runners are alert and aware of each other. And the y are off. Dylan made a slow start there but his pole position has allowed him to hold back the early challengers. They are nearing the the slide. No no, three of them have diverted to the play hous and two have gone down at the first distraction by the outdoor kitchen. Four left in the race. Looks like Divna has some indecision? Yes she is picking up a hoop instead. Dylan has reached the slide stairs closely followed by Spencer who is not happy at all. He is jumping up and down at the sight of Dylan swooping majestically down the slide and here come the tears, and the shouting, and finally the demands. Dylan appears to be having none of it though and has gone back up for a quick second run. Spencer is convulsed in juddering sobs as the teacher arrives to offer consolation. It is a really tough one. So much riding on today for him but you win some you lose some. Congratulations to to Dylan though who made the last run count and claims the slide for today.
A Big sense of relief Before was drudge. Day after day after day. After a sense of freedom
Caught fast in the flow Desperate to cast free Dying to move forward Calling out for a reply
Every day For a year Getting nowhere fast
Every moment since that snag gave way and the boat came unstuck
Feels like walking into fresh air after a musty room, like feeling large soft cool drops of rain after a drought, like the first crack of Thunder after the stifling humid spell before
Gone. Great. Glorious and good luck. I for one a glad and grateful that is all over.
It felt so complicated. Her brain was not coping well with deciphering what was happening at that moment. It had come as such a surprise. Call after call of bodyless voices, bored and uninspired voices just or downright angry ones. She had imagined that this job often felt like a modern take on the old punishment of water torture. She had begun to feel dread for the moment she placed her headphones over her ears to block out the people she was amongst and to sit in her chair and log in at the terminal. The daily menu of targets flickering onto her screen. Now that dread had seeped past that moment and she sensed it in her approach to the desk, at the moment she entered the building and as she got out of the train at the platform. By the time she reached the the stairs at the office it was a tangible feeling in her stomach. One day. One compliment. One voice that engaged and acknowledged and laughed. Maybe it was time to seek a new start back in the real world. She felt the flicker of hope rise within her and decided it was no maybe moment anymore.
He rose at dawn with the birds Stretched and half stumbled down the stairs. The kettle click. The cupboard door closing. The low sound of bubbles. The high pitch of china cup edges. A moment of quiet. The slow familiar creak of the stairs. Step by step. He brings me my morning cuppa. On painful feet. Carried with care. Carried by love. While my body rests in a warm bed and my mind dances off with This play of words amidst the morning light and bird sounds. And my muscles soak in the summer warmth.